


I think it's time you had a pink cloud summer

by lifewasradical



Series: Daylily [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhaustion, Luke realizes he's getting better, M/M, References to Depression, Therapy, There should be a tag specifically about being in the kitchen, getting better, projecting onto Luke after I went to therapy, that's basically all it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29226999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifewasradical/pseuds/lifewasradical
Summary: Mid way through washing the dishes after dinner, Luke realizes what he’s doing. He’s actually doing the dishes, those that have been piling up in the sink for more days than he wants to admit. He stops, soap bubbles tickling his hands as he holds onto the plate, watching the way that the water washes away the last of the soap. It swirls down the drain and Luke imagines it flowing down the pipes and out into wherever his sink leads to.Or, Luke is getting better.
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin
Series: Daylily [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145987
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	I think it's time you had a pink cloud summer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FayeHunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FayeHunter/gifts).



> Based on a prompt by [Emily](https://pixiegrl.tumblr.com) "Cross that, don't answer that". Emily likes little slice of life fics so here we are with another one of those! Part two to the emo Luke I wrote last weekend, kinda a new insight into my mind as of late 💜
> 
> title from daylily by movements

Mid way through washing the dishes after dinner, Luke realizes what he’s doing. He’s actually doing the dishes, those that have been piling up in the sink for more days than he wants to admit. He stops, soap bubbles tickling his hands as he holds onto the plate, watching the way that the water washes away the last of the soap. It swirls down the drain and Luke imagines it flowing down the pipes and out into wherever his sink leads to.

The state of Luke’s house almost always correlates directly to the state of his mental health. He thinks about this as he looks at the kitchen island, seeing the papers and random items littering the surface. It’s a mess, coffee splotches staining the marble countertop. It’s disgusting, a concept that makes him smile to himself.

When he’s in the dark hole, he doesn’t care about the disarray of the space. Noticing that his living space is a mess is the first sign that he’s coming around to the other side, reaching the point where he starts to feel like himself again, slowly. Something surges in him to kick into gear, to clean up all his disasters and put the pieces back together again.

But he stops, putting the last of the dishes in the dishwasher. The voice in the back of his head sounds suspiciously like his therapist, calmly saying “ _Remember, Luke, don’t push yourself too hard when you’re starting to feel okay again. If you suddenly spring back into action at full speed, you’re just going to deplete the little charge you’ve accumulated again_.”

She’s right, Luke knows it. It doesn’t stop the itch in his bones, wanting to fix his house so he can’t feel the memories of the emptiness in him anymore. But, instead of reacting stubbornly and harming himself again through pushing forwards, Luke pauses. He inhales, holding the breath for a moment, before exhaling again. Patience.

He starts slowly, deciding that he’s only going to clean up the kitchen before he makes himself rest. One room at a time, he smiles, working through the mess in the early evening light. It’s quick work, putting the papers in the drawer, wiping down the countertops and refilling his water filter that had been sitting out on the stove for days, another reminder that he hadn’t been cooking for himself recently.

When it’s done, Luke washes his hands clean of the disinfectant he had used before turning on the coffeemaker, ready to enjoy his tea and relax for the rest of his evening before he takes himself to bed early as a treat for completing a menial task. The last of the fleeting sunlight filters through the window causing the countertop to sparkle. It’s warm, a warmth that Luke hasn’t felt in what feels like ages.

It’s a reminder that everything is going to be okay on the other side, even if the feeling is just barely here right now. It’s building, starting in his fingertips and working its way up his arms. He can’t wait for the bubbling joy to filter its way back into his mind, casting shadows on the darkness to hide it away. But for now, Luke holds onto the tiny strings of hope, slippery between his fingers. His happiness is balloons, trying to float up into the atmosphere, but as time goes on, he gains a stronger grip on the strings, tangling them in his fingertips to avoid it floating away again.

When his tea has been properly steeped and he’s added his milk and sugar, Luke gets ready to move over to the living room or the office or somewhere to relax. But the idea of the layers of grime and depression across those other rooms is enough to have Luke retreating, wanting to stay in the little bubble of his clean kitchen and the rapidly setting sun.

He slowly sinks to the floor, right in the path of the beams from the window. His palms are warm, though he’s not sure if that’s the mug or the feeling of life melting down from his fingers. It’s reassuring, sitting in the one place in his home that mirrors his mental state in a positive way, rather than in the mopey way he’s been sinking in lately.

He vaguely thinks about the unmade bed and Petunia’s toys across the living room and the dirty laundry on the floor of his closet, but more than that, Luke wants to focus on the small victories. That’s all that matters anyways, his ability to slowly claw his way out from the wreckage and come out clean on the other side. He knows that there’s another disaster in the future because there always is, but each time he gets a little stronger, a little more confident in his knowledge of how to fix when he’s broken.

“Luke?” a voice calls from the front door. Luke smiles at the tip tap of Petunia’s nails on the hardwood floor as she greets Ashton. Her tags jingle as Ashton scratches her ears. Luke can imagine both their dopey smiles, Petunia drooling on the floor and Ashton cooing lightly at her before he probably decides to go find Luke.

“Kitchen,” Luke calls, realizing suddenly that Ashton won’t be able to find him without assistance. He doesn’t get up off the floor, but instead he sits back against the cabinets, closing his eyes to shield them from the evening glow.

Ashton comes in, huffing out a small laugh at the sight in front of him. Luke, legs stretched out in front of him with a pink mug full of tea and greasy curls across his forehead. He knows he must look a little pathetic, but the smile on his face hopefully shows otherwise. He’s happy, or maybe not happy but at least a bit content.

Ashton takes a seat next to Luke, pressed against one another from shoulder to hip. Ashton pulls the mug from Luke’s hand, taking a small sip before returning it to Luke. It makes Luke smile, a little more genuine than it was before.

“Doing better today? Wait, cross that, don’t answer that. We don’t have to talk about it,” Ashton trips over his own words, forehead creased at his lack of filter. It’s endearing, Luke thinks, as Ashton blushes.

“No, I am doing better. I think I just got to the point of exhaustion? Like, I was so strung out and that was my mind’s way of self preservation, shutting down. We were overworked and I wasn’t sleeping and... “ Luke trails off, knowing that he doesn’t need to explain himself to Ashton, but still feeling the need to do so anyways.

Ashton puts a hand on Luke’s thigh, squeezing just a little bit as a silent reminder that he gets it, words spoken or not. Ashton always gets it. He can hear what Luke is thinking as if they’re his own thoughts, clear as day. It’s scary, but Luke can’t imagine it any other way, having someone so in tune with his thoughts and emotions.

“I understand,” Ashton finally says after a beat, smiling at the shiny metal of the kitchen sink ahead of them.

“I’m glad you do, because I didn’t. I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t just act like a normal fucking human being for a day. It was weird, feeling so entirely empty and so angry, at myself and at the world and at just. Everything. I hate that feeling, but I know I’m working at better accepting and understanding it. But, thank you. Thank you for being there and letting me do what I need to do to be better. I appreciate your support more than I could ever say.” Luke sighs at the end of the sentence, dropping his head onto Ashton’s shoulder. He tilts so he can see Ashton’s profile, studying every mark.

There’s a tiny cut from where Ashton must have nicked himself shaving. His eyelashes are fanned out across his cheeks, light brown hairs protecting his eyes. There are wrinkles there too, set deeply into his skin from years of smiling and squinting and adjusting. When Ashton opens his eyes again, the early evening sunset hits him perfectly, gold and hazel and moss green twinkling in the light. Luke wants to live in the forest in Ashton’s eyes, make a home in his pupils to experience the oasis there day in and day out.

He looks down at Luke, smiling just enough that his dimple pops out of his cheek, lips twitching to hold back a larger smile. That warmth in Luke’s palms reaches his arms and he doesn’t bother to hold back his want of wrapping his arms around Ashton’s shoulders, burying himself in Ashton’s neck after placing the mug of tea on the floor.

Ashton hums in content, leaning his head onto Luke’s. They don’t say anything, just listen to one another breathe with the sounds of Petunia nosing around in the distance, the heat blowing out of the vents, and the dishwasher running. It’s not a lot, but it’s all Luke needs: simplicity and Ashton. He may not be feeling completely like himself, but sitting on the kitchen floor curled up around the love of his life, Luke can see the pink clouds in the distance.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me on Tumblr [lifewasradical](https://lifewasradical.tumblr.com) 💜


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